The Envelope
by gubergirl13
Summary: Set in season 4. A different take on Brooke's birthday. Some healing for the Brooke and Peyton friendship. Updated and complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** All of OTH - totally not mine

**Summary: **Set in season 4. A different take on Brooke's Birthday.

**Word of caution:** a rough, first fic. Just couldn't let the opportunity pass to share my wish for healing of the Brooke and Peyton friendship.

**The Envelope**

It was a familiar scene – amidst the black and red, the faces on the wall engrossed in the sight before them, the dark blonde sat at her desk, fighting back the tears that were becoming too common. She stared down, her face pained with the remembrance of recent days. This time was different, though. Instead of her eyes drifting upon some black and white drawing created in angst and sadness, they focused on the envelope, purple and wrinkled, that she held in her hand.

'Let it go, Peyton. It's over,' she told herself. 'If you keep trying, it's just going to hurt more.' This was often the battle she fought within herself – the battle between unconditional love and selflessness, and self-perseverance, not to mention, the luring temptation to put romantic love above her desire for integrity and friendship. 'Why are things always so complicated?' Her mind drifted to events a few weeks before…

From the outside, it was a typical party in Tree Hill – loud, crowded, and smelling of alcohol. Peyton paused, and gave herself another pep talk. 'Just remember why you're here.' This was not just any party. This was Brooke's birthday party, the first the two had spend apart since they had known each other, a party orchestrated by Rachel, Brooke's swore enemy turned best-friend replacement. Peyton couldn't help but feel hurt by this change of events. She worried that the new found responsible Brooke would fade to something lesser, and that somehow, this was her fault. She shoved the thoughts aside, vowing to focus, instead, on the nagging hope that things between the two of them were not over quite yet. Despite the uncomfortable situation before her, Peyton sought out the person she had come to see.

On the back porch, dark and quiet, Brooke stood, drink in hand, staring into the nighttime sky. The artist's heart began to ache. The two would often gaze at the stars and, ever since they were nine, they would name the constellations. Sometimes funny, sometimes serious, but always real, the ritual was a peaceful reminder of safety and togetherness, one hallmark of their long friendship. The door creaked open and shut.

"I think I see Orion." It was a nervous beginning. Brooke paused, her expression unreadable, turned, and offered a response that was characteristically Brooke Davis: "What a surprise? The ex-best friend. Come to get the knife you left in my back?" Brooke wore an expression of hatred that was also recognizable. "I didn't come here to fight with you, Brooke." "Then there's really no point in you being here. Why don't you go find your new boyfriend?" Peyton grimaced briefly with hurt, then, straightened her expression. Brooke was hurting, and in typical Brooke fashion, that meant attacking the person that caused her pain. "I'm not going to play this game anymore, Brooke. The game where we say mean things to each other to avoid talking about all of this, about something real." "The last thing that I want to do is talk to you Peyton. Thought you would have gotten the idea by now." "Fine. You don't have to talk to me. But, you can listen." Brooke stood arms crossed in silence, her face resonating with intolerance and disgust. Her eyes, though, were different. They softened and filled with something else. Maybe there was hope after all.

"It's your birthday, and I know I'm pretty much the last person you want to see right now, so I'll keep this short. I can't help who I love, anymore than you can. But, I can promise you something. I have and will always want you to be happy. Because, as much as it hurts sometimes, I love you, and I care about how you are, B. Davis." She paused, filled with emotion, fighting the tears in her eyes. " I just wanted to make sure that was clear. And if you are ever ready to talk about all of this, and I mean, really talk about it, I'll be here."

With that, she reached her hand out of her leather jacket and handed Brooke an envelope, unmarked and curiously weighty. Brooke looked down with confusion, torn between her hurt and her past friendship with the blonde. Should she take it and let Peyton back in after so much had gone on between them?

"Happy Birthday, Brooke."

Brooke's heart, though pierced with her failed relationship with Lucas and the betrayal she felt by Peyton's feelings for him, was scarred with something she knew to also be true – that somehow, in spite of everything, the blonde that stood before her had withstood Brooke's assaults. Peyton meant everything that she said. Brooke took her hand from the warmth of her coat pocket. Her eyes met with Peyton's with a softness not present for weeks.

The door to the back porch slammed, startling the two girls and severing the moment Peyton had been desperately hoping for. Rachel, drunk and conniving, started to laugh. "The P-whore and a cute little envelope!" She grabbed it, crumpled it, and threw it on the ground. "Come on, Brooke. Your real friends are inside." And with that, the brunette stiffed, glared at Peyton briefly, and turned, leaving the blonde standing there in the dark, alone.

Now all that was left of her friendship with Brooke she held in her hand. With a dejected sigh, Peyton stood up, walked slowing to the trash can by her closet door, and dropped the envelope inside.

"Giving up so easily?" Peyton, shocked by the surprise visitor and hurting from the memory, was unable to control her tongue. "Guess I could say the same thing about you." Brooke was straight-faced for a moment, then smirked slightly. "You know me, P. Sawyer, I was never one to turn down a present." While trying to portray confidence, her unsteady voice revealed nervousness. Brooke was here, in her room, without yelling or crying or hitting. Maybe things would be okay after all. Peyton slowly grabbed the envelope from the trash and hesitantly handed it to Brooke. The brunette took and opened it. "A key?" she asked in confusion. "Yeah – let me show you something."

To be continued . . .


	2. Chapter 2

Peyton walked slowly out of her room and, with Brooke following unsurely behind, walked to a door at the other end of the hallway.

"Use your key."

Brooke, after a questioning look, inserted the key in the door and turned the latch. The door opened, and as the contents inside came into view, the brunette's eye's widened. She walked slowly into the newly designed room – a bedroom, her bedroom. The walls were of various blending themes – on one, a scene of Paris, on another, her various fashion designs were sketched full-sized and bold on the wall. A third wall housed a dresser and mirror, similar to the one in her parent's house before they had to sell it. As she turned her head, she saw a round bed, pushed up against the back wall facing the door. Next to it, rested a table with a folded piece of paper which read "For your doll house." Above it, were the words "Home" with a framed picture of Brooke and Peyton taken at the beach party earlier in the year. What hung above the bed, however, caught her breath. The sentence, "You are the best company" was painted in white and on the purple background, hung sketches of various photographs she recognized – photos of her and Lucas, Haley, Mouth, Bevin, Rachel, and others. Brooke's heart began to ache.

Peyton put her hands in her back pocket, bit her bottom lip for a brief second, and explained, "I started working on this before . . . everything. That last wall sort of came together later on."

Then, Brooke remembered the reality of recent events, the tension between them. She stood silently, her eyes darting between the overwhelming display of friendship and love before them, and the ground, confusion filling her thoughts. "I don't know what to say."

"Its okay Brooke, I get it. I promise. I'll just . . ."

"Peyton," the brunette turned to the artist and uttered, wrought with emotion, "I have tried SO hard to hate you . . ."

Tears filled Peyton's eyes, as her head hung low. Brooke paused and let out a heavy breath. "But, the deal is . . .. I love you too damn much. And then you go and do stuff like this and remind me of that."

The blonde, surprised and touched, looked up at Brooke with renewed courage. Maybe there was hope after all. Peyton took a final risk and grabbed something out of the dresser drawer. "Here," she said, "one last present."

She handed Brooke a rectangular box, wrapped simply in red with a white bow marking the middle. Brooke took it, with tears rolling down her cheeks, and ripped open the paper. She opened the box and lifted out a black and white drawing of her and Peyton when they were kids, playing in the snow. On the bottom were the words, "A good day." Brooke smiled lovingly at the drawing, remembering.

Peyton spoke. "When I was stuck in the library, I was having trouble staying awake." She hesitated, then continued, "Luke asked me to tell him about a good day. The best day I could think of, the day that first came into my mind, was with you. YOU also made me feel better in that library. You, Brooke, my best friend." The last words came out like a plea – a plea for understanding.

Vulnerable, so wanting for the hurt she was feeling to be replaced by the security of her friendship with Peyton, Brooke begged, "Promise?" Her voice broke.

Peyton looked her in the eyes and firmly stated, "Promise."

With relief, Brooke wrapped and arm around Peyton's shoulder and pulled her into an emotional hug. Both girls let out a sigh of relief. After a few moments, Brooke uttered, "Missed you P. Sawyer." Peyton closed her yes, savoring the moment. "Missed you too, Brooke."

"I'm sorry about hitting you and about everything I said."

Peyton squeezed her tighter and replied, "Shhhhh. . . . we can talk about it all tomorrow."

Brooke released the hug and looked at Peyton, doubt returning to her face, "I don't know how were going to sort this one out."

"Me neither. But we will." Brooke nodded and smiled at the reassurance, and gathered Peyton back in a hug.

"Yeah . . . . we will."


End file.
